My Formula 1 System-Chapter 632: Package

Trampos Headquarters, Germany.

Two days after the South African Grand Prix in Midrand, the headquarters in Berlin was mostly vacant. The drivers, engineers, work crew, and operational management who made up the race team were still abroad, while only a skeleton staff remained behind.

The wind moved freely through the empty service roads, carrying the scent of the racing world’s fiasco. Outside, the sun ducked behind a blanket of clouds, dulling the sharp lines of the facility and casting a portion of the complex in muted grey.

Two security guards wandered the perimeter, slaphappy in the quiet, hands resting on their utility belts as they checked sector after sector. With most of the team still overseas, their routine inspections felt lighter and unhurried. All they looked forward to was the cafeteria and a long, well-earned lunch.

As they took one last loop around the new convocation area beside the staff building and the parking lot, their conversation naturally circled back to the race: the crash, the flags, and the ending. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

One of them snorted, a wet, aggressive sound, and spat onto the pristine concrete.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "I hate the Blacks. Absolute cheaters. Liars, the lot of them."

The other guard scoffed, adjusting the belt riding up over his stomach. "They never win clean. It’s the same tired tricks, just a different season. It’s pathological at this point."

They passed beneath the long shadow of the staff building, their boots crunching rhythmically on the gravel.

"And then you’ve got that nincompoop, Alejandro," the first seethed, his face reddening. "Five Grand Prix wins in eleven years. Eleven! And the man spends his weekend playing butler to a champion. What a pathetic little jackass."

"How do you think the country will receive him when he gets here?" the second asked.

The first guard smirked, a little chuckle bubbling up. "Oh, I bet we’ll make sure he gets a befitting reception."

The rumble of the headquarters gate cut through their chatter, pulling both guards’ attention at once.

They turned in unison, hands resting on their hips as the long steel gates began to slide apart, the mechanical groan echoing across the empty facility. Beyond the opening gates, a line of massive transport trucks waited nose-to-tail, heat shimmering above their roofs and exhausts ticking softly as the engines idled. Logos stretched along their flanks, dust-streaked and road-worn from days of travel.

As the trucks began to roll in, the guards moved toward the entrance, lifting their arms to wave at the gatehouse colleagues who had cleared the way, receiving distracted waves in return.

There were four trucks in total—towering Iveco S-Way haulers, purposeful and heavy, their proportions all muscle and machinery. They crept through the entry beside the new convocation arena, a disciplined rumble murmuring from their engines. Sunlight slid across their angular cabins and long, shrouded trailers, while the drivers offered quick thumbs-up to the watching guards.

About seven minutes later, all four vehicles were parked far from the main complex, lined neatly beside the headquarters’ solar plant. The engines fell silent, leaving behind a faint metallic ticking as heat bled away from the trucks.

One by one, the drivers and crew climbed down from the high cabins, boots hitting the ground. They were smiling and stretching after the long haul while Trampos officials approached to greet them.

The site smelled like a mix of fuel, dryness, and metal that had been hot for too long and had finally been allowed to rest.

As the doors of the S-Ways swung open after another, pneumatic sighs echoed softly across the open yard, followed by men climbing down and boots hitting the concrete.

"Long haul," one of the drivers yawned, adjusting the brim of his cap as he nodded to his colleagues. "But at least no rain. The roads never felt this peaceful."

"Ah, yes, of course," one of the Trampos officials replied, extending a hand. "You earned the peace. Welcome to HQ."

He shook hands with all the drivers. More hands followed, more greetings. Eventually, the cluster grew. From the surrounding administrative buildings, more staff began to bleed out onto the asphalt. It wasn’t just the guards anymore; logistics clerks, a few junior engineers in branded polos, and a couple of grease-monkeys appeared, drawn to the sight of the massive haulers like moths to a flame.

"She’s a beauty, man," the second guard said, whistling low as he ran a hand along the flank of the lead Iveco S-Way. The truck was a masterpiece of Italian engineering, its lustrous silver paint hidden under a veil of road salt and crushed insects. "Sturdier than the old rigs, aren’t they?"

"Yup," the first guard agreed as he craned his neck to take in the length of the S-Ways. "I wonder how fast they can go."

"As fast as an Accord, I’d wager. Haha."

One of the drivers overheard them, and he laughed, too.

"They can be fast, but don’t give them too much color," he corrected with a wave of his hand. "They’re tanks. Didn’t drop a single PSI the whole way from the coast, so that counts."

Guard 1 and Guard 2 nodded emphatically, impressed by the machinery.

The trucks were ravishing to stare at. Trampos logos hadn’t touched them yet, giving them this anonymous, secretive aura that made them more imposing.

Moments later, the crowd parted as a lean man in a crisp, narrow-cut suit marched toward the trucks. This was Eggert, the Secretary to the Technical Department. He didn’t have the grease under his fingernails like the others, but he had the authority. He checked his watch, a silver chronograph, and nodded.

"Gentlemen," he said semi-formally. "Excellent timing. The race results were... well, the less said the better, but seeing these here changes the mood significantly. You’ve done well."

"Aye!" x4

Hands were shaken again. Introductions made. Eggert listened more than he spoke at first, nodding as one of the drivers summarized the journey.

"You’ve done excellent work," he said when the driver finished. "We appreciate the care. Refreshments are being prepared inside. Food, drinks, proper rest."

A murmur of approval passed through the group.

Guard 1 and Guard 2 glanced at themselves and remembered they had yet to have the lunch they were looking forward to all morning.

It was a good thing they hadn’t. Now, they could get the chance to hear some good old male gist from the drivers about their journey.

The site went silent as Eggert made a call, turning slightly away.

"They’ve arrived. All four units intact. Yes—condition is excellent. You’ll want to see this. Understood. I’ll walk them through."

He ended the call and turned back to the gathering before gesturing seemly toward the nearest building. His assistant, a very short woman, took over and led the fatigued drivers to respite.

"Look at the wheelbase on these... the anatomy is wild. Three chambers, right?"

Eggert overheard the group staring at the trailer, so he joined them. "Correct," he said. "The first chamber is climate-controlled for the telemetry racks and the sensitive MGU-K units. The second is the belly—parts, wings, a hundred different carbon-fiber permutations. And the third..."

He looked up at the towering rear of the trailer, which was shrouded in a heavy, reinforced tarp. The others glared at him expectantly.

"The third is where the new chassis sleeps," Eggert finished.

"I heard these can carry twice the spare floor configurations than the old rigs," the first guard chimed in, trying to sound knowledgeable.

"More than that," Eggert replied. "It’s about the modularity. These models are built so we can slide a whole engine rack out without disturbing the car’s suspension calibration. It’s a lab on wheels. A very fast, very heavy lab."

He tapped the side of the trailer. The sound was dull and solid.

"But we aren’t touching them yet. We’ll get our own loading crew and the heavy forklifts out here in an hour. No sense in scratching the carbon because we’re in a rush."

The secretary then turned to the rest of the staff. "Inside, everyone. Paperwork and protein. Let’s get the logs signed so we can resume in due time."

"Aye..." x14

As the group began to move away, the two guards stayed behind.

The sun slipped into another cloud again, casting long, dramatic shadows across the service road while the cooling trucks continued to tick and pop.

The first guard, the one who had been so bitter about the race results only twenty minutes ago, leaned back against the perimeter fence. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out, then thought better of it and tucked them away. He just stared at the trucks.

"You feel that?" his colleague asked.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. This is it."

They didn’t need to say more. They knew what sat inside those chambers.

Hope packaged in steel.

By the time summer ended, things would look different. And standing there beneath the muted sky, with the Iveco S-Ways resting patiently beside the solar plant, they knew their team wasn’t just struggling to stand upright.

They were preparing to surge.